


heat wave

by ssstrychnine



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Multi, Post-Canon, Road Trips, Swimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 18:44:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11363382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssstrychnine/pseuds/ssstrychnine
Summary: “There is not a single rip in that swimsuit,” says Gansey.“No safety pins either,” sighs Henry.“Rust isn’t a good look for me,” says Blue.





	heat wave

They’ve been driving most of the day, through dead, yellow grass, over soft, hot tar, and Blue is ready to concede that her choice of route was the wrong one. Henry is at the wheel; he has on slick, black sunglasses and there is a single bead of sweat on his face, hovering at his temple. It’s a glamorous way to sweat, Blue thinks, wiping the back of a hand across her forehead. Her bangs seems to cultivate sweat, the un-glamorous kind, damp and sticky, but she doesn’t care. She prefers it to being cold. Gansey, golden in the back seat, is a boy who has never sweated in his life. Blue looks out the open window.

“Stop,” she barks, and wordlessly, Henry pulls over.

“Is something wrong, Jane?” Gansey asks, slow and low and filled up with sun.

“Look.” Blue points. It’s a ridge of rock and a flash of water, nothing else. It might even be a mirage, a trick of the heat, but it’s the first indication of something interesting they’ve had all day.

“As you wish,” says Henry, smiling, and he turns down the bare, unmarked dirt road that leads to it.

It’s not a mirage, it’s a lake. It’s set into the straight lines of an old quarry, like immense steps down into the earth. There are rusted stairs coming out of the water and traces of impermanent buildings or machinery left behind. There are cautious patches of reeds and water birds send ripples out that hit the sandstone edges in tiny waves. The waterline is lower than it could be, but easily deep enough for swimming.

Blue, one hand on her hip and one shading her eyes, licks her lips. Henry slides his sunglasses down his nose so he can look over the top of them, eyebrows raised. Gansey already has the car boot open and is rifling through their bags, looking for the things that go with swimming.

Blue gets changed awkwardly. She is not uncomfortable with her body but she is very aware of the way she feels about Gansey and the way she thinks she feels about Henry and it seems imprudent to be openly naked around both of them just yet. So she struggles in the back seat, tugging everything into place, remembering her skin and Gansey’s skin and white-sheets-as-togas. The boys throw off their shirts and shoes so easily it infuriates her, just a little, but she holds her tongue. Her swimsuit is plain, navy blue, a one piece, as functional as a swimsuit can get, and both of the boys stare at her when she finally gets out of the car.

“You’ve both just lost your music privileges,” she sniffs, walking passed them, tying her hair back firmly into place.

“There is not a single rip in that swimsuit,” says Gansey.

“No safety pins either,” sighs Henry.

“Rust isn’t a good look for me,” says Blue.

The water is cool and clear and delicious. Blue jumps in first and Gansey dives in from the steps, so elegant that Henry almost has to make the biggest splash he can. Blue floats on her back, looks up into the blue sky until she feels a little dizzy and has to shut her eyes. Gansey swims in straight lines, making barely a ripple, and Blue and Henry watch the way his shoulders move. They swim around like this, picking their own ways to move through the water, stretching out their sun-baked limbs, and then they come back together. Henry leans on Gansey’s shoulder, pushing them both a little deeper. Gansey holds a hand out to Blue and she takes it and then they are three, an unbroken line, and then Blue reaches for Henry and he takes her hand and they are a circle.

They mostly stay touching after that. Blue’s hands on Henry’s shoulders, droplets of water against the gold of his tan, slippery skin and goosebumps. Gansey diving under them, tickling the soles of their feet, tugging on their ankles. Gansey kisses Blue and his mouth is cold and wet and she can hardly tell where her lips end and his begin. Under the water she tangles their legs together. Henry looks away from this, ducks his head under the waves, though he’d been trying to keep his hair dry until then. Blue lets go of Gansey then and finds Henry’s hands in the water, takes them both in hers, watches water pool in his palms. There are droplets of water in his eyelashes and a dust of freckles across his nose that Blue hadn’t noticed until now.

“It’s you too,” she tells him, not the right thing to say, but there aren't words for what she’s feeling. Henry looks at Blue and then at Gansey who is moving closer to them, frowning a little, but in a way that’s thoughtful, not angry.

“I think,” says Gansey, still frowning, “that Jane’s right.” 

Blue wants to kiss them then, both of them, Henry and Gansey, but she has to keep kicking her legs to float and she keeps loosing her grip on them, one way or another. The water is not a place for confessions like these, for relationships to change in unfamiliar ways. She thinks, perhaps, they ought not be half-naked for that either, though Henry also wears a t-shirt better than anyone she’s ever known.

“I’m getting out,” she declares, and she lets go of Henry’s hands, and swims over to the stairs.

Later, in twilight, they are wrapped in towels, sitting in the backseat together. Blue leans on Henry’s shoulder, Gansey holds one of Henry’s hands. Blue’s hair is drying into fluff and so is Gansey’s but Henry’s looks perfect already, swooping over his forehead like a wave. Blue can still taste lake water on her lips and she licks her forearm to taste it there too, summer on her skin. Henry laughs and She can’t stop looking at Gansey and Henry’s hands entwined, the way Gansey’s thumb is moving across Henry’s knuckles, the way his eyes are closed but she can tell he’s wide awake. It feels exactly right, the pieces of a puzzle put in place, a crooked line made straight, a held breath finally let go. She tucks her hand under Henry’s arm, shuffles a little closer, anchors herself there, pressed against him, and then lets herself fall asleep.    

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr prompt](http://oneangryshot.tumblr.com/post/144985119992) from a thousand years ago like all of my recent fic. thank you for reading!


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